Stones
by Kailey Hamilton
Summary: "Tragedy was too fresh for Anthony Goldstein to find any solace in God, who had refused to hear his prayers. Instead, he found comfort in stones on a grave, a freshly-written epitaph, and Morag MacDougal's hand on his shoulder." In which Anthony and Morag deal with their respective losses. Anthony&Morag FRIENDSHIP. Oneshot for Deb.


_Disclaimer:__ No, not about Harry Potter (not mine, by the way) or Psalm 23:4 (King David was a wonderful writer ffs) but about Morag and Anthony's opinions. They're not my opinions by extension. I'm not using fanfiction to force characters to give away my thoughts on life, death, religion, and similar controversial topics. _

_Notes:__ For lovely baby **Deb (uncontained hybrid)** for the Gift-Giving Extravaganza. This is headcanon-heavy too, so please do let me know if I failed to explain something necessary for the understanding of this story, other than Becky Mayer being obviously an OC I've used and mistreated a great deal._

_**Deb: **__I apologize for the total lack of a point and the heavy presence of my own headcanon in this. But I remember you once complained about the lack of non-stereotypical Jews, so I needed to do something about it and well. I hope my take on Anthony pleases you. Tbh I wanted to write something happy, but the current situation makes it difficult to be cheerful - or to write altogether. I hope you enjoy this nonetheless. Ily so much._

_Thanks to **Jess (autumn midnights)** for her beta-reading skills, as always._

* * *

**Stones**

Anthony was glad, in a way, that he'd coincided with Morag MacDougal in visiting Becky's grave. He'd been there more than once, but no matter how many times he'd asked God for strength, it never got any easier. Just then, there were enough flowers to make the birthday girl's grave stand out from those around it. Which meant that, for once, there was almost no room for him to lay down the pebble he held in his fist. He knelt down next to Morag to find a place nonetheless, his eyes fixed on the inscription:

**REBECCA MAYER**

**OCTOBER 4, 1980 - MAY 2, 1998**

And it was harsh enough that the cold, hard facts were visible. Morag's purple flowers covered the epitaph. It wasn't like Anthony cared to read it - the words were always forgotten in a matter of minutes. Not a single phrase about life, love, and death would've suited Becky, in his opinion, because death itself didn't suit Becky.

Anthony sighed loudly. Only then, Morag looked at him. He looked back at her, taking in her appearance. A few strands of brown hair rebelled against her ponytail, but nothing else in her demeanor betrayed her serenity. She held a bouquet of roses, even though she'd just honored Becky with an arrangement of purple flowers.

Morag blinked repeatedly, then quickly looked back at the place in which he'd left the pebbles.

"Stones," she said.

"Stones."

"You're not going to explain yourself this time, Goldstein?"

"No, I don't think I will."

"Becky would've loved flowers on her birthday."

"There's no need to remind me of that," he accused, "and I'd like to think Becky would've appreciated my traditions just the same."

"Oh, so it's because of that Judaism thing?"

In spite of himself, he smiled. It was Becky's phrasing that had come out of Morag's lips. Becky was Morag's childhood friend, after all. They knew each other too well.

"She was ever so curious, wasn't she? I can't forget that one time in which she questioned me an hour straight about fire alarms, of all things..."

"It's because of you that she found them interesting."

Anthony shuffled, looking away.

"I don't think so," he said. "And before you say anything, I get how... I get how these things work. But I still think that you're not giving her enough credit. She had the ability to find something of interest in everything." Upon saying that, the weight of her absence crashed down on him and tears appeared in his eyes. His voice was choked when he spoke next. "I'd say she's the only person you could ever call annoying, and mean it as a compliment."

Anyone else would've protested against his feeble attempt at a joke. Anyone else would've mocked him for crying. But Morag smiled and moved a little bit closer to him, placing her free hand on his shoulder.

"True," she said. Anthony wiped his eyes, but tears keep falling. "It's just one of those things... I mean, I knew her since we were four, and I don't remember a time in which I wouldn't have been willing to use extreme measures to shut her up. And look at us, missing her for it."

Anthony wiped his eyes again. Crying in his bedroom all morning hadn't helped him keep his composure. He had been prepared, after all, to read his friend's name engraved on cold stone. He hadn't been prepared to think about her as honestly as he'd thought about her in life.

"All things considered," he said, once he was confident enough that his voice wouldn't crack, "it would've been wrong for me to bring her flowers."

"Stones are brilliant. I can almost hear her now going insane over them. But where is it written that you bring stones, and not flowers?"

"I think it's written nowhere - it's just a tradition." It felt as if he was talking both to Morag and Becky, and the thought of Becky's smile made him both relax and hurt. "I'd like to think it's about permanence of memories - flowers die, rocks do not. Just like body and soul, isn't it?"

"Well. I wish I could agree. If you ask me, Becky is... Becky is long gone. It's not comforting. But I guess that what I'm trying to say is, the things you do to honor her, you have to do for yourself."

Anthony opted for letting it be. Instead, his eyes went to the roses Morag still held. They would die, unlike stones. But just then, they were full of life and beauty.

"Who are those for, anyway?"

"The roses?" She looked at them long and hard before replying. "For Theodore."

"Theodore?"

"_Nott_, Anthony. Theodore Nott."

"I know which Theodore. I'm... sorry. I didn't know..."

"Well, of course you didn't." She seemed unaffected. "Could you please come with me?"

Anthony hadn't said a single Psalm in Becky's memory yet, but something in Morag's voice made him agree to her request.

He followed her no more than twenty meters until she stopped in front of a different grave, right by the edge that hid the cemetery from unsuspecting Muggle eyes. This grave, however, was pure and naked stone. Not a single petal could be seen in its vicinity. The only similarity it shared with Becky's the date of death on the headstone. Anthony's stomach churned and he felt nauseous all of a sudden, and was glad when Morag placed the roses next to where an epitaph should've been.

"Do you think it's right, Anthony?" She looked at him in the eye. "Is it okay for a person to leave this world without kind words, a proper burial, a single tear of goodbye?"

"Why wouldn't he have a proper burial?"

"It was one of those funerals the Ministry held for the unclaimed bodies. I didn't know at that time, but Theodore's father was already facing charges. It's not like he would've cared, anyway, seeing as he was the one who killed Theodore."

_She surely seems to know a great deal about the Notts._

"I find it unbelievable that Nott senior would kill his only heir."

"I was there, Anthony." She looked away, lowering her voice. "He was aiming at me. Theodore got in the way."

_Oh._

"That's... suicide."

The words slipped out without his consent, but he couldn't help being horrified. Had Becky been alive to beg him to explain his thoughts, he could've told her he was raised to believe that many things were fleeting and disposable compared to a human life. But another human life wasn't one of them.

"Do you disapprove?"

It didn't seem like the right time to explain the Jewish principles of preservation of human life. They couldn't possibly apply to two people that neither knew nor cared.

"I'm just glad you're here."

Morag didn't seem to feel like talking, so Anthony was left to wonder in silence. Wasn't he happy Morag was alive? Wasn't he glad, in a way, that Theodore had made such a sacrifice? Many would call it noble or heroic. But not Anthony. A life for a life was never a fair exchange to him, just as redemption wasn't always pretty. It was another one of those truths of the war, in a battle they thought of with glory and he could only think about in blood red.

Sometimes, Anthony didn't know what to believe.

"No matter what," he said, voicing the only thing he was certain about, "I don't think it's right for a person to leave this world like Nott did. As if he'd never passed through it and left a mark."

"I knew you'd agree with me. You know what? I think I'll write him an epitaph."

"What will you write?"

"I'll think of something. I don't know. You're the one who's good with words."

"You're the one who has good things to say about him."

"Well, I _do_ have a lot to say." Morag's face lit up, her eyes flickering like flames. "He was loyal to any cause he cared enough about. He was smart, _and _a good wizard. Well. Everyone knows that, if only by his reputation. But I believe he didn't want to use the Dark Arts for any greater evil. I think he was always looking for a way out, you know? If I hadn't been there, if he hadn't asked me to dance with him at the Ball... I think he would've found someone else to die for, sooner or later." She looked at Anthony and when she spoke next, her countenance was more controlled. "Anthony, I know what you're thinking. I know he was no angel, alright? And it might sound insane to you, but I think he was just... doing what he had to do to survive, trying to hang on for long enough to figure things out. " Her voice broke. "You have to believe me."

"I would never accuse you of lying."

Such a weak affirmation seemed like enough, for Morag offered a quiet smile as she shuffled, now hugging her knees. To Anthony, she looked five years younger. Her ponytail had loosened, now barely holding itself together. And he couldn't help but wonder whether she also _felt _five years younger, lost in memories of the man who had died saving her.

_It's not even a matter of love_, he thought. _No matter how much I loved someone... _He thought of Becky, six feet underground. He would've done everything in his power to free her from the chains of death. Everything.

_Everything, but trading places._

The afternoon breeze was chilling to him all of a sudden.

"Would you have done it, Morag?"

"Done what?"

"Would you have traded your life for his?"

Silence set in.

_It wasn't love. It couldn't possibly be_. Becky would've never died for him, either. She'd loved life itself more than she could've ever loved anyone. Just like Theodore Nott could've loved Morag, but love alone didn't seem like enough to trade a life for a life.

It was a sin. A confusing sin, but a sin all the same.

"For Merlin's sake," Morag said, startling him. "I'm literally the only person in this world who cares."

She took out her wand and pointed at the gravestone. She murmured a few words, and a yellow light started clawing at the stone, leaving letters in its wake. Even before the spell was completed, he could read the uneven words Morag was writing:

**A BETTER MAN.**

He turned around to look at her. A lone tear rolled down her cheek as she examined her work.

"I should've waited to master that spell," she muttered. "But I'm sick of sitting around, doing nothing as he's completely and utterly forgotten."

Anthony had no answer. He wasn't sure Nott's actions made him better.

_But Becky would've disagreed with me_, he realized. And it was because of Becky's memory that he realized he knew he needed to do something. Anything.

He searched the ground until he found a lone white pebble. He took it, and placed it right next to Morag's flowers.

"Stones," he told Morag, "also serve to signal that a grave has been visited."

He was supposed to think Nott's soul would be comforted by his actions and prayers. However, he couldn't bring himself to forget the kind of person Theodore Nott had been before his last seconds. No, Nott wouldn't have cared in life, and he doubted his wretched soul did.

Morag did care, though, and that's what mattered.

"Thank you, Anthony," she said. He smiled and nodded in acknowledgment.

"Do you mind if I pray?"

"Not at all."

He would've wanted to pray next to Becky's grave, but there was a woman he didn't recognize paying her respects. So he took out his little Psalms book right there, and read to himself for a while, hoping his words would find their way to God.

The night of the Battle, Becky had asked him to read aloud from that very same book. She'd found hope and comfort in the idea that 'his God' was watching over them. Anthony remembered feeling the other way around - hopeless, like a coward, trying to find God while everyone else was preparing to fight.

It was the same night in which Theodore Nott had lost his life saving his ex-girlfriend and no one remembered him for it. No one even knew. And it was a sin to Anthony, but he could understand why others -such as Morag, or Becky- would disagree with him.

His eyes stopped on a verse: '_Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.'_

He re-read it. _'You' _was meant to be God. But for once, he wasn't comforted by the thought of a God that had taken someone as joyful as Becky, and that had given Nott such a conflicting departure. Tragedy was too fresh for Anthony to find any solace in God, who had refused to hear his prayers. Instead, he found comfort in stones on a grave, a freshly-written epitaph, Morag's hand on his shoulder. His comforts were mundane little things that had never before occupied his thoughts.

He closed his book with a soft thud. Morag looked at him expectantly. Maybe she was right, and these were things he was supposed to do for himself and no one else. It certainly didn't get any easier with time. He knew it probably wasn't okay to ignore God's words every once in a while - but this time, he just didn't care.

For once, he feared no evil.

"You saw good in him," he said. "And maybe his actions do indicate that he was a better man, but he certainly thought you were a better woman."

"I wouldn't have done it."

"Neither would I," he quickly added, "but a little bit of love goes a long way. Maybe you saved him before he saved you. Even if you're right, and he would've found someone else to die for... maybe he wouldn't have found someone else to _live _for. And what you did for him -what you _do_ for him- does make you a better person." He smiled, and was surprised when the smile reached his eyes. "Becky would've been quite happy to see that you remember him so kindly."

"Becky hated his guts."

"I did too. But I have to give him credit, and I think she would have, too."

"If only because you do."

"Morag," his smile faded. "Stop reminding me that she loved me. I couldn't have loved her back. I just couldn't have. I'm sorry."

"She did love you, and you need to face that." Whenever Morag spoke that passionately, her whole being seemed to be on fire. "No matter what, you treated her fairly and sincerely. You didn't put her on a pedestal because she was popular, or demean her because she could be... well, just a little bit obnoxious. You never gave her false hopes, and you were a great friend to her, someone she could respect and admire. I know this because she told me, and I'm telling you because you need to face this with humility, not with guilt. I won't stop, and I'm not sorry."

It was one of those moments in which Anthony had to remind himself that if Morag wasn't so brutal, they would've never become friends.

"It just... doesn't get any easier," he confessed.

"It eventually will." Again, Morag's hand was on his shoulder. "For both of us."

He closed his eyes, and let himself believe her.

"You're probably right," he said. "Humility is the way to mourn Becky, and Nott's final act makes him a better man. Maybe this will help."

"I guess. I get what you mean - a little bit of love goes a long way. And I think you're right." She smiled. "Let's make it count, then."

_It's what Becky would have wanted, _he thought. _To walk through the valley of the shadow of death, and fear no evil._

"Let's make it count," he repeated. And for the first time since the Battle of Hogwarts, the weight of his loss got a little bit lighter.


End file.
